Topic: #loregang

Spirit Weaver had been gone for some time. As she often was. This was the first she stepped into town in easily over a month, after all! And it had been even longer still since she’d checked her PO box. A thing that she forgot that she even had, most times. It had been…. Quite a while since she’d been in. Mostly because there’s never anything interesting there. This quarter’s stack felt no different, either. Junk. Junk. Junk. Jury summons (whoops). A bill. She was on the verge of tossing the wh...

Time passed, as it often did, continuing its ceaseless march into oblivion. Spirit followed alongside it, as did the rest of the world. Thoughts of the past few weeks had faded into the background. The name still stuck in her mind, though. Taproot. Grass Roots Apothecary. She finally had a name to who started this. To who… forced this life upon her. Spirit had spent the day in Canterlot, wandering the market district, but never straying too far from a central location. The shop, itself. To think...

Part 1: https://canterlotavenue.com/blog/1210/a-mothers-love/ Part 2: https://canterlotavenue.com/blog/1230/a-daughters-ire/ Spirit didn’t know how long she’d run for. She ran down the sloped streets of Canterlot. She sprinted until her legs burned and her lungs strained with the effort of keeping up with her breaths. The world was blurry around her, the tears in her eyes turning the lamps in the street into vague smudges of color. The cobblestone underneath her hooves gave way to the the ...

// Decided to look into my unpublished lore posts and found this. Did some rework, but I haven't written something propper in a while, so bear with me. Very short one as well, which is good. "Those that close themselves off are the ones in the most need of affection." The chloromancer read out loud, the dull blue eyes focusing on those words. He stared at them for a while before setting the book over the desk and pushing it aside. "Huh. Any thoughts, darling?" He asked, the focus shifting ove...

It’s hard to talk about the relationship between my father and I. Mostly because I never felt like there was one to begin with. I have conflicting memories of him, sometimes he was there but most of the time he was a background figure who happened to inhabit the same home as us. I remember him pacing around the house and sitting at his big majestic leather chair at the study, always scheming. The garage was filled with his old guitars and drum sets which he liked to polish and play from time to ...

“Still…. It just doesn’t make sense.” “…What doesn’t make sense?” I ask incredulous. “The… you know… that whole acting thing…” “That whole acting thing?” I respond with a bit of a scoff. Truth be told she caught me off guard. It was at this point that I had stopped looking at the stars in the sky and I turned to look at her, Heather. My best friend since… well… since grade school. ...

Spirit Weaver woke up dead. Quite an oxymoron, yes. One couldn’t just… wake up dead, could they? At least that wasn’t something that made sense to her. She’d read the phrase once in a novel and couldn’t stifle the laugh that came afterwards. And yet…. Here she was. She woke up. She was dead. This must have just been one of those out of body experiences that she’d heard about. She was some ways above the ground, the forest floor damp below her. In the brush was where she lay. She could hardly...

Perhaps the worst of it all was the sickly smell of decomposing leaves, Fletcher was never a fan of the Fall season for that very reason. Mist crept through the trees, crawling up their roots and wrapping around his legs as he made his way through the woods. He didn't mind the cold, he didn't mind the dark, those had become oh-so natural to him over the last few years. What truly bothered him was that smell, decay. The certainty that all things are one day to whither and rot. He halted by ...

This is it. To have lived thirty years with a disease such as this particular one, to have gone through all the challenges that it and life had presented... It is truly a miracle. But even after all of that, the time has come. Time to rest. The early morning sun rises just beyond the horizon, tainting the sky with light purples, blues, and oranges, making glister the dew-covered grass of the valley. This is a nice place, always has been. Energy sips out of the body slowly, trickling away...

A warm breeze rolled down the golden dunes of Old Antioch, dragging along the salty ocean air and the sound of waves from beyond. Zerathur slowed to a halt and raised one of the front legs, covering the eyes just in time to protect them from a waft of sand that followed the breeze. "Windy! the perfect weather for some good waves. The sun is quite warm today though, isn't it?" A moment of silence followed, but it wouldn't last long. "Oh, no joke, Sherlock!" Mel burst into laughter somewhere behin...

"now i know why i don't come here" crimson said as he walked into a very bad sandstorm. "all i have to do is find that lamp, destroy it, and maybe get a new crystal for my collection" crimson said as he walked into a town wearing crystal goggles and a heavy cloak. there in the middle of the town gem dagger stood as crimson said "well am glade they kept the statue of me after all these years". "hello you seem new here, i am broken glass..." crimson closed their mouth and said "if your going t...

(warning this story goes dark) "polo you alright?" hunter said knocking on the door that was fixe one week after polo was thrown from a window. "just leave me alone..." polo said as he lay down on the couch not even moving to the door. "look if you don't let me in i can't help you out" hunter said as silence followed for about five minutes before the door unlocked as polo walked back to the couch. "it not that bad polo, look you have skill to be a hero, why don't you be one..." before hu...